


Lies-to-Children

by Pitry



Category: 21 Jump Street
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitry/pseuds/Pitry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A lie-to-children is a statement that is false, but which nevertheless leads the child's mind towards a more accurate explanation." (The Science of Discworld)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies-to-Children

When Tom was nine, his dad had spent two weeks at home, recovering. It was real frustrating - even though he finally had his dad all to himself, they couldn’t go out and play ball, or bowling, or run around or anything, because his dad couldn’t move his arm too much.

“That’s what happens when you get shot, kiddo,” his dad said laughing when Tom complained. “Part of being a cop.”

“Why are you a cop?” Tom asked then. It didn’t look like such a good deal.

But his dad just laughed again. “Because someone has to stop the bad guys,” he said.

*

When Vinh’s dad spoke, there was never any room for argument. “Do not talk back to your mother,” he said. “Respect your elders,” he said. “Family is everything, Vinh. Remember that,” he said. “You should always keep the old traditions. If you do not remember where you come from, you do not know where you are going,” he said.

When Vinh was thirteen, they each took a suitcase. Vinh gave a kiss to his grandmother, who hugged him tightly. “You be careful,” she said. His dad picked up his bag and put his key of the house inside it. “We’ll be back before you know it,” he said, putting his hand on Vinh's shoulder, and they set out towards the Embassy.

*

Doug’s dad was sick. He was always sick. “It’s just a bad day,” he said, like he always did, and Doug just shrugged, like he always did. “I just need to lie down a bit. Just a bit of a headache.” So Doug went outside to play, or rather, run after Joey to get his dinosaurs back. Joey loved taking his stuff, even after Doug told him not to, a million times.

“They’re mine!” Doug tried to wrestle the plastic dinosaur out of his brother’s hands. “Give them back!”

Too late - Doug’s dad came out of the house, angry and with a bottle in his hand. “Doug!” he bellowed, and Joey ran off again - with the dinosaurs. “Stop picking on your little brother, you two are giving me a headache!”

“Sorry, Dad,” Doug mumbled in resentment, promising to himself that Joey would get what he deserved when he was finally back.

“You should be nicer to your brother,” his dad swayed, caught himself, then took another sip. “What did we say, Doug? We’re a family, we’re looking after each other, right? Right?” he asked, like he always did. "That way, everything will be alright. We're looking after each other."

“Right,” Doug mumbled again, and his dad went back inside, to lie down.

*

Judy rubbed her eyes, trying to hide away the tears. Her dad might walk in at any moment, and if he saw her like that, he might ask her what has happened. And she couldn't tell him. She couldn't.

She looked again at the leaflet from the clinic. That's the best option, she told herself. She'll never finish school if she had a - she couldn't even say it.

"Baby?" she jumped, but it was just her dad, calling her. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, Dad," she called, hiding the leaflet. "Everything's fine."

“Good! Shouldn't you go to sleep? It’s a school night! And you have a test the day after tomorrow. You need to study, girl. You study hard, and there is nothing you can’t do and nothing no one can ever do to you. Go to bed.”

He was right. She had a big day before her tomorrow. She went to bed.

She'll study later.

*

Adam’s dad always shouts. He’s always angry. He’s angry when he wakes up early in the morning, when it’s still dark. He’s angry when he puts on the red bell-boy uniform. He’s angry when he’s going to work. He’s angry when he gets back, late at night.

He’s angry when he beats Adam up.

When Adam brought back an A from school, though, he wasn’t angry. “You show ‘em,” he looked at his son with rare pride. “We can beat ‘em at their own game, you’ll see.”

*

The city council is talking about closing down Piedmont High School. Most kids in the neighbourhood don’t make it to high school, anyway. And those who do don’t stay there.

Judy sits down with Shane in the living room, in front of the TV. It’s a big colour TV, the best in the market. First one they ever had, Shane boasted at school. First decent one, anyway. His brother had bought it for them with money from his new job, that's what he said. Harry has already taken his brother away. He’s sitting now at the back of the squad car, with the evidence.

“You need to stay in school,” Judy tells Shane. “If you study hard, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Shane’s dad hears this and snorts as he puts on his red McDonald’s uniform. He can’t be late for work, even if his son is in jail. Shane just shrugs and changes the channel.

*

“Uncle Doug?” Clavo wakes him up again. Another bad dream.

“It’s okay, Clavo,” Doug mumbles, half asleep. “Go back to sleep.”

“Uncle Doug?” he asks again, and Doug sighs and turns on the lamp on the nightstand. On the way he accidentally hits the small calendar, and can hear it fall to the floor.

“What is it, Clavo? What’s wrong? Another bad dream?”

“No. It was a good dream.”

“A good dream? Then what did you wake up for?”

“Because I wanted to tell you.”

Doug stares at his nephew for a moment, then hits his head against the wall, repeatedly. “Come here,” he says, and Clavo climbs onto the bed. “What did you dream about?”

“I dreamt about my mom,” Clavo says. “Do you think I will see her soon?”

“Yeah, I hope so, Clavo. We just need to be a little more patient,” Doug says. “Now help me get that thing up.”

“Okay,” Clavo reaches a hand and picks up the stray calendar. Doug puts it back on his nightstand, not before setting it to the right month again. January, 1994.

*

“Harry Yamada,” he introduces himself with a big smile, shaking hands. “It’s Cho, not Chaw,” he corrects the man’s pronunciation again, pleasantly. “Kim. It’s Korean,” he says helpfully in response to the blank stare. “Yeah, well, I haven’t been to Osaka in a very long time,” he evades the question, still smiling, and hopes he didn’t make too big a mistake. “I don’t know Mandarin,” he looks at the man still smiling but slightly exasperated, “We’re from Hong Kong. We speak Cantonese in Hong Kong.” He scratches his head and laughs. “Harry Truman Ioki. Guess what year my parents came to the States?”

*

Tom wants to say everything would be okay, but doesn’t. He pries the gun out of the kid’s unresisting hands. They’re shaking like a leaf, just like the rest of him. Instead of putting cuffs on him, Tom just pulls him away from the body.

It wouldn’t matter that the kid’s sixteen. It wouldn’t matter that his father had a million arrests already. It wouldn’t matter that he always walked free. It wouldn’t matter what Tom tells the judge, or if he camps in Jackie’s office from now on until the trial. It wouldn’t matter that for years and years, this kid was the victim. It’s Special Circumstances Class A Felony Murder, and Tom has seen it enough times to know that the kid is going to end up in prison. He sends his hand absent-mindedly to his forehead, but the wound there is long gone. He holds the kid and doesn’t say it’s going to be okay because he just can’t lie anymore.


End file.
